


You're alive

by Brian J Christopher (ikudou)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, M/M, PTSD, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 19:24:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikudou/pseuds/Brian%20J%20Christopher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's come to think that he's got the hang of living by now. He's been concentrating hard enough on doing just that. But he hadn't once considered that his survival techniques might actually hurt someone. Least of all Tony Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're alive

_Every great century that produces art is, so far, an artificial century, and the work that seems the most natural and simple of its time is always the result of the most self-conscious effort._  
(Oscar Wilde, as paraphrased by Jerry Devine in "Velvet Goldmine")

**You're alive**

The first thing Steve Rogers realizes about the twenty-first century is that nothing has really changed in the world. There's still a war going on, albeit a much less important one; there are still bullies roaming the back alleys of Brooklyn and vivacious dames out for a stroll in Central Park, hand in hand with their girlfriends, giggling and waiting for fellas to go dancing with. And there's another Stark in the city, tinkering away, thinking up complicated devices in his pursuit of building a better tomorrow. Or something like that, Steve can't quite recall.

He'd told Nick Fury the absolute truth: nothing surprises him much. When that first wave of all-encompassing anger and grief had passed, he found that his leap into the future has left him wistful, almost serene. There's little he can do but adapt, the way he had adapted to being sick all the time when he was a boy, and then, later, to suddenly becoming unnaturally healthy. He takes this new life and everything that it entails in stride. He acts, he reacts, and that's all that matters. He's relieved that no-one seems to notice that he's come to feel nothing at all; his pain, his jokes, his frustration and outright anger he makes himself conjure, following some set patterns from before, and it works, it really does.

So when Tony Stark offers, out of the blue, to take him to bed, Steve shrugs, nods and thinks, why the hell not. It's the new world out here, it's his new life, he might as well do something with it that's actually, well, new. This is... This is adapting, too.

He counts off everything that's different from what he'd experienced before: the feel of rough goatee on his chin and upper lip, the tight grip of Stark's ass made deliciously wet with lubricating liquid, subtle strength of this strikingly male body, still vulnerable compared to Steve's own yet hard enough to hold back just a little bit less than he would with a dame.

Dirty talk's not new, if a lot, huh, dirtier. Looks like there's a lot of filthy slang for Steve to memorize, but that's nothing he's not used to. European girls had been rather vocal, too.

He fucks Stark on a regular basis. Drinks ridiculously expensive imported beer with Thor on Saturdays just because it tastes really good and he can afford it, and for once can't bring himself to regret not being able to get drunk. He fights supervillains and rides his bike around town. Goes to sit on the roof of newly rebuilt Stark Tower with his sketchbook, tries time and time again to depict everything he sees, taking in the tall, proud, excessively modern, magnificent city New York has become, bit by bit. Invites Clint over, orders some pizza, watches a lot of TV. He lives.

"Hey," Stark calls out after another long, hot, rather satisfying session, curling around him like a huge cat, post-coital bliss written all over his sly face. "You like fucking me, right?"

"Uh, yeah, 'course I do," Steve lights up a cigarette. He used to smoke sometimes with the boys, after his asthma stopped being an issue; everybody smoked back then, and even if Steve appreciates how smart people have gotten when it came to watching their health, he can't resist indulging the habit. Apparently, cancer isn't a possibility for his enhanced body. Of course, Stark had pointed out that sharing a cigarette after sex was some kind of stupid cliche, but Steve had just smiled at him, enjoying his envy.

"I'm used to a little more enthusiasm, you know," Stark goes on after a pause. Steve studies his face for a moment, as subtly as he can, comes to a conclusion that Stark's been thinking that for quite some time, and it took obvious effort to voice his displeasure. From what Steve's seen, Howard's son is as bad at acknowledging weakness or defeat as his father had been.

"I'm sorry," Steve says, feigning embarrassment. "I know I'm not as skilled in bed as you are, but, hey, I'm learning, right?" He shoots a tentative smile Stark's way for good measure.

Surprisingly, Stark's not fooled.

"Cut it out," he orders. Steve does his best to look confused, but Stark's having none of it. "Stop, just stop, for fuck's sake. Stop pretending you're enjoying this when it's glaringly obvious you're not, okay? I know you took me up on my offer just 'cause it was the only one on the table. I can hook you up with someone, Jesus, just say the word. Girl, guy, cross-dresser in four-inch heels, take your pick. But stop insulting my fragile ego with your lame attempts at fiery passion, deal?"

Steve laughs at the outburst. Can't help it. It's so... So _Stark_. The guy makes light of everything, cracks jokes even when he's being dead serious, and it's. It's infectious. 

Laughter comes out weird, bubbles up Steve's throat like it's an alien, unnatural thing, like he's choking up stale water.

"I..." He has to swallow before he's able to continue. "I'm not faking any fiery... Jesus, I'm not faking, Stark. I'm enjoying myself. I am. You should know better, you've already made me come twice tonight."

"If I tug on your dick hard enough, you'll shoot," Stark snorts. "Honestly, you're like a fourteen-year-old on little blue pills, don't know if you've noticed. Doesn't mean you like it. Doesn't mean it blows your fucking mind."

Only half of what he's saying actually makes sense to Steve, but he gets the gist. Laughs again, consciously this time.

"Never thought I'd see the day Tony Stark tells me there's more to sex than fondling and coming," he smirks.

"Well, there is," Stark snaps. 

"Like what? Feelings?" Steve teases.

"Not feelings, Snow White. Pleasure. Want me to spell it for you? P-L-E-A-sure. Have you been listening to me? Like, at all? Well, it's the cancer stick, I guess. But that's taking not being able to multi-task to a whole new level, just so you know."

"I have," Steve smiles his best boy-next-door smile and puts his cigarette out. "Been listening, I mean. I'd like to continue having sex with you, Tony, if that's all right with you. I'll try to do better. Demonstrate my... uh, my pleasure more. I know I can be kind of cold. I'd spent an awfully long time frozen up, huh? I guess it shows." 

Stark makes a face at him, and something's not right with that face. It's not his usual "I'm so not impressed with you right now, old man" expression, but something new, something serious, unlike anything Steve's seen on him before. Like he's actually... Hurt. Or worried. Or both.

"Okay," Stark finally says. "Whatever. Let's have more sex right now. Show me what you've got, super soldier."

Steve does, and, a little while later, does it again.

That face, though. He can't seem to get it out of his head, can't shake the memory of it even as he's coming down Stark's... Tony's throat. Even when he's alone in his so very modern, but still comfortable apartment, sprawled in front of a flat-screened TV, doing his best to lose himself in silly commercials. Something cold and heavy settles in his stomach whenever he remembers the exact twist of Tony's lips, the look in his eyes, the deep lines on his forehead. It's troubling him, not in a good way, this twisted feeling that floats up from his stomach and into his chest, not quite pain and not fear, either. It's almost physical, like he managed to swallow a whole cheeseburger in one go, and now tiny pieces of it are scratching his throat and the rest are making their way down in huge, greasy chunks. It's disconcerting, to say the least.

Steve's come to think that he's got the hang of living by now. He's been concentrating hard enough on doing just that. 

But he hadn't once considered that his survival techniques might actually hurt someone. Least of all Tony Stark.

"Hey, we're in no hurry," he says the next time they meet up to have sex. "Come here, just kiss me, come on."

Tony settles in his lap, strong thighs bracing Steve's, and hums into his mouth obligingly, clever fingers running up and down Steve's spine. Steve shivers with pleasure and realizes something he hadn't given thought to before: Tony is weirdly gentle in bed. They go at it hard and fast more often than not, for sure, but Tony's always languid, relaxed to the point of being totally passive. He's like liquid in Steve's hands, flowing, following every move, every touch like he's not the savvy one, like he needs guidance. He never initiates anything, verbal requests aside; he talks a lot, yeah, but that's to be expected. It feels almost as if Tony anticipates Steve ignoring his words, and he never asks for anything outright, seemingly satisfied with whatever Steve's willing to give him.

Steve's overwhelmed by his discovery -- which, Jesus, he should've made weeks ago -- and keeps on kissing Tony slowly, lazily, thinking this through all the while. 

What if this is Tony's way of making him feel more comfortable, easing him into the idea that he's actually having sex with a man instead of a woman? Okay, that's a silly thought. Tony's in no way feminine, couldn't be less masculine, in fact, if he tried. But this manner of his... It's constant, unchanging, no matter how often they fuck, and Steve is shocked he'd been ignoring that. Maybe, he thinks, Tony's concerns are actually justified.

"Ride me," he says before Tony can start babbling. "Sit down and ride me, just like this, wanna see you."

This -- this is new. He never talks, not unless it's strictly necessary. Besides, Tony talks more than enough for both of them.

"Steve," Tony's half-lidded eyes are reflecting the faint glow of his heart device, and they're black-blue, so dark and large and deep in a surreal way, and, shit, he's kind of breathtakinly beautiful, for a fella. Steve's cock twitches at the sound of his own name: it comes out on a long groan, almost painful-like. 

"Yeah, that's good," Steve gives an answering moan when Tony's slick hand covers his dick. "C'mon, can't wait, c'mon..."

He's surprised at the urgency in his voice, and even more so because he realizes it's completely genuine. It's not just adapting anymore; he's been looking forward to this.

Tony's sinking down onto him, finally, enveloping him in the best way there is, rough hands on Steve's shoulders clutching desperately for support, and it's like they're fucking for the first time ever, it's so good.

"Tony." Steve tries to speed him up with a bruising grip on his hips. There's something strange going on in his chest, in the pit of his stomach. He can't feel his cock for a moment, for all the pleasure Tony's perfect ass is giving him; his throat is locked tight, he can't think, can't breathe -- feels like a long-forgotten asthma attack, and his eyes sting, so he blinks fast to make it go away. 

Tony's looking down at him. Been watching every tiny change in his expression the whole time Steve's been out of it, seems like, and Steve feels his face heating up in real, honest embarrassment. It hits him like a bullet to the head: he's fucking Tony Stark. And he's going to come in about two seconds.

"Let go," Tony whispers, hoarse, soft, imploring. It's his seductive voice, maddeningly hot, nerve-wracking yet strangely private, even though Steve has no way of knowing whether Tony uses it with anyone else during sex. "Got plenty of time, Captain, just fill me up, just do it, don't hold back."

Oh God, yes, fuck, he's not wearing a condom. Is he really so dense to have forgotten that in a matter of minutes? Apparently he is. 

Tony kisses him, soft and sloppy, and then Steve's coming, hard, shuts his eyes against the overwhelming tide of his orgasm, and it's so, so new. It's like he's...

"I'm alive," he mumbles, dazed, against Tony's collarbone. Doesn't quite acknowledge that he's talking out loud. "I really am."

"Yeah, you really are," Tony mumbles back, faintly smug, and Steve's amazed he's able to register that. "You totally are."


End file.
